


ERASE U

by armanivs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Creature Fic, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Sane Tom Riddle, Soulmates, Tom Riddle is Not Voldemort, Tom Riddle is a Sweetheart, Veela, tomione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29534037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armanivs/pseuds/armanivs
Summary: The name of this work hasn't got much to do with the actual text inside.All that is to be known is that Tom finds his mate and makes a vow.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 4
Kudos: 61





	ERASE U

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is. It isn't well crafted or written or anything.  
> Tom and Hermione are fairly OOC in their own way.  
> Enjoy lol.

“Your wings are beautiful,” Hermione murmured as her fingers lightly brushed the soft, ink-coloured feathers. A low groan erupted from the bottom of Tom’s throat as pleasurable currents of electricity flowed through the sensitive tips of what could be used as a quill only by her. “You like that?” she whispered, reaching to stroke the porcelain skin of his cheek.

“More than you’ll ever know,” he replied with a gaze of such intensity that the witch nearly took a step back.

Resuming her gentle cafuné, the time travelling witch manoeuvred one of her hands to tangle it within his dark, curly locks. “How long have you been searching for me, Tom?” she asked as his head dropped onto her shoulder in a moment of weakness and his dark wings curled around them protectively, nearly destroying his neat bedroom in the Head Dormitories.

“Almost two years,” he said while wrapping his arms tightly around her waist and breathing in her addictive scent, “How did you know to come back in time?”

Hermione faltered, “I didn’t,”

“Then how did you get here?”

The curly haired witch shrugged, “One minute you were-” she paused, “I’m not sure if I can tell you,”

“Why not?”

“The laws of time must not be broken. Those who do risk destroying everything,” she recited almost robotically, the familiar words that had been drilled into her when she was first entrusted with the gold time-turner that hung loosely from her neck.

“Is there anything worth saving in your past?”

Hermione sighed and shook her head, “I guess I can tell you things. Bits and pieces,”

Tom’s hold tightened momentarily in gratitude.

“You were standing over my best friend’s dead body and boasting about it,” she started, her head relaxing on her Veela’s tense shoulder. Her veela who was also her best friend’s murderer. “You pointed your wand – actually, I don’t think it was yours. It looked different to the one you were holding at my face a few moments ago,”

“S-Sorry,” he stuttered out, grimacing as though the sincerity of the word had caused him pain.

Hermione laughed lightly, her dirty clothes chafing uncomfortably against her torn skin. “It’s a commendable instinct,” she commented, “You pointed a wand at me and you cast the killing curse, but instead of killing me, I presume it hit my time turner and it sent me here,”

Tom’s mouth went dry as he felt like retching at the mere flitting thought of killing his mate, let alone actively pulling out his wand and throwing the green curse at her. “No, no, no,” he muttered frantically, his wings wrapping around them even tighter. His Veela was trying to protect his mate from a threat that wouldn’t exist, a threat that had been himself. “Never, never, never,” he repeated over and over again.

“It’s alright,” Hermione soothed, feeling an overwhelming urge to kiss him in order to calm him down, “You wouldn’t have known when you were like that. But you know now. And now you have to listen to me so you don’t fall down that path again.”

Tom nodded frantically as his entire body shuddered and the witch decided that a crying fest wasn’t as important as a bath in the current minute. “Help me take a bath, please?” she asked as she continuously pulled parts of her clothes drenched with her blood and others alike away from the parts of her body they were clinging on to.

“Of course, of course,” and his veela nature took control over him. Lifting his mate’s battered body into his arms, Tom wandlessly started the bath he shared with the Head Girl and threw in as many bubble potions, relaxers and soaps into the steaming water in preparation for his mate.

Hermione watched in amusement as the evil budding dark lord stood by the magic-powered taps mentally debating whether to scent the bath with cinnamon or with mint. “Add both,” she grinned as she removed her dirty shoes and muddy clothing. The witch knew her body was frail and easily breakable in its fragile, malnourished state (nothing that a month’s worth of consistent meals couldn’t conquer) and thus she found herself slipping into the water as Tom’s back was turned to pick up a bar of soap that had slipped from his hand.

Tom Riddle looked so undeniably human in the vulnerable moment he was displaying affection for her. The smallest of things like skidding over a slippery area of tiles and cursing when dropping the block of soap he had intended to use to wash her body with into the depths of the pool. Perhaps Dumbledore was wrong when he said he had acted out due to being controlled by the lust for power. Maybe, just maybe, he wanted vengeance for being dealt such pitiful cards in life. He was, after all, only a lonely boy stranded in an orphanage in the midst of World War 2 when the Blitz held a terrifying reign over London. Simultaneously (to make things worse) the wizarding world held the threat of Grindelwald that wouldn’t be resolved until later in the academic year by Dumbledore.

Ah, Dumbledore. Nearly everything she knew of in the Wizarding World had revolved around him. Single-handedly he had destroyed the lives of both her veela and her unborn best friend through suspicions over an innocent child asking whether his extra power was of any significance and thus, he had ruined the lives of two full generations.

Hermione let out a loud hiss as beads of soap stung the open cuts and nasty bruises. The soft white colour of the bubbles became tainted with a reddish brown from both dried and fresh blood mingling together in the water. The witch dreaded what it would look like once her hair was washed.

Tom had taken his own shoes off, the legs of his trousers folded till his knees as he sat on the edge of the pool with his feet in the warm water. He had conjured a brush and vanilla scented shampoo and conditioner. “Don’t worry about the water, silly witch,” he said as he felt the growing apprehension like a whisper in the back of his mind, “You’ve just come from war,”

MATE HURT. MATE HURT. MATE HURT.

Rang like alarm bells within the privacy of his mind. The veela within him urging him to comfort her more as she winced in pain with every move she made.

“Allow me to wash you?” he asked with a gentleness that scared him, “I won’t look, I promise,”

Hermione shook her head, “No, Tom,” his name rolled off of her tongue perfectly, “You do the hair. Get it as nice as yours,”

Abiding by her wishes, the formidable wizard began to detangle her dirty, untreated tresses. With each swipe the brush made across her scalp, flakes of old blood and dirt dropped into the bath water, dirtying it until it was purified by magic mere seconds later. He could see her eyes slowly drooping to a close as his touches comforted her in a way she hadn’t felt since her mother had hugged her for hours after her first summer back from Hogwarts. Exhaustion was evident as her head leaned against his stable leg and her breathing began to even out. She had managed to wash her body before falling asleep on him and thus all he had left to do was dry and change her. His precious mate.

Hermione stirred when she felt cold fingers tracing the derogatory scar on her left forearm lazily. Stiffening, the witch reached to cover her body with the thick blanket on top of her only to realise she had been changed into a comfortable man’s jumper and magically shrunk business trousers that were soft to the touch.

“Thank you,” she breathed out before her mind could prompt her into spewing the now unnecessary you-better-not-have-looked’s. He was her veela as she was his mate. There wouldn’t be much benefit in secret keeping given that her identity as from the future had already been revealed. A frown tugged at her lips, “Where are your wings?”

Tom raised an eyebrow, “You can’t possibly expect me to have them out and about all the time,”

A small smile graced her lips, “But what if I want them to?” she teased lightly.

“I’ll do it then,” he said seriously, the skin of his back disappearing as his wings took form once more, “Anything for you,”

He thoroughly loathed the amount of power his mate held over him; he loathed how he became a simpering mess just for her.

Hermione shook her head, “It’d be difficult for you,” she conceded and reached out to brush them once more, “But occasionally you can let them unfurl, no?”

“Of course,” he breathed, “I still don’t know your name, witch,”

“Hermione,” she concentrated on the alluring thrum of magic between her finger tips and his feathers, “Hermione Granger. And you’re Tom Riddle,”

Tom nodded his assent before shifting to stand up, “Come, we must get you to Headmaster Dippet and have you enrolled,”

The curly haired witch blanched, “But I’m not dressed properly-”

“And what clothes do you plan on changing into? I didn’t see you arriving with a trunk or any kind of bag and the fashion from the future – taking in consideration in the attire you arrived in – is extremely different to the vogue now. It’s much more understandable and easily explainable as to why you’re in my clothes,” Tom reasoned.

Hermione blinked, “Alright! Calm down, there’s no need for your feathers to get so ruffled.”

The dark haired wizard scowled before flicking her cheek, “Freshen up and we’ll go,”

**ooOoo**

“Oh my,” Headmaster Dippet gasped as Tom and Hermione sold their fabricated story on how she had arrived, all the while informing him of their creature revelation, “Your magic, in order to protect you when you recognised you were soon to die, transported you to Tom?”

“Yes, Headmaster,” Hermione confirmed as she subconsciously stepped closer to the dark veela beside her, “That is my theory,”

“You speak English so well for a witch bred in France,” Dippet frowned, unable to connect the dots.

“My family hired tutors from different areas to teach me different languages. My second language is English and over the years I have been perfecting my accent through meeting muggle tourists,” the witch somewhat lied. It was true that she had been perfecting her accents however it was to touch up her French and her Russian instead of English. French she had been taught by her few years at school and remote learning sent by owl; only Russian had been taught through the means of a magical tutor.

“That is marvellous,” Dippet commended, “Well Miss Granger, take a seat so you can be sorted,”

Tom gave her a brief smile before moving to stand by the door of the Headmaster’s office. What had once been filled with odd trinkets and collectables was now simply a plain, monotonous office scattered with unorganized piles of parchment.

“Slytherin!” the hat had called unsurprisingly though it still prompted a wicked grin to form on the Veela’s handsome face.

“Congratulations, Miss Granger. A fine house is Slytherin,” Dippet commented, “Now regarding your sleeping arrangements, an amendment has been made to the status of Head Girl. Penelope Clearwater has been pulled from the education system in favour of being home-schooled to be closer to her family. Although this decision may arouse some form of resistance, I’m happy to give you the title of Head Girl and the luxuries that come with it,”

A few tears began to collect in the corner of her eyes as Hermione gratefully accepted the role and its responsibilities. Head Girl had been what she had aspired to attain ever since she had first stepped foot in the castle of Hogwarts when she was eleven years old. And now, despite being over half a century in the past, her wish had come true. Recognising the strong waves of sadness parading from her being, Tom pulled his mate into a hug. A strange fluttery feeling taking over his stomach when her emaciated arms wrapped around his waist and she comforted herself with his presence.

“Why are you crying, my Hermione?” he asked quietly as they exited the castle to walk around the grounds in the light breeze of early autumn.

“Life is going to be very different,” she said while her thumb brushed his inner elbow soothingly, “To be fair, I’m not entirely sure why I’m crying,”

At this Tom snorted, “Women,” he rolled his eyes as he led them to the Black Lake.

“There’s a lonely squid beneath the surface,” Hermione commented offhandedly as she bent down to pick up a smooth rock. She raised her arm and threw it in the manner Ron had taught her what felt like only a few hours ago. Another involuntary tear slipped, “I used to come here in first year and just talk to it in the middle of the night,”

“Why?” he asked as he corrected her stance and helped her throw the next one, both watching the rock sink a further distance away from the first one silently.

“Because it wasn’t the only one that craved friends; someone to talk to other than teachers in class,” Hermione frowned, “It isn’t fun always being smart, you know,”

“Don’t I know it,” Tom said as he helped her throw another one, “The others are dull,”

“That’s because you’re in Slytherin,” she laughed, “In Gryffindor there was always something to do that kick-started your adrenaline. Especially in my year,”

Tom smirked, “Then I guess I will have to join you in another of your late night adventures,”

“There are a lot of things I would love to show you,” she turned to face him, a serious expression plastered on her face as she held one of his larger hands in her smaller, softer ones, “But I need you to vow that you won’t become the monster you became in my time. I need you to promise me with a wizard’s oath that you won’t become the insane Lord Voldemort that I knew,”

The dark haired wizard held her intense gaze as he felt her magic locking onto his, pleading for him to accept it. “I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, vow on my magic to try my best to not to become the tyrant Lord Voldemort had become in the alternate future. I vow to try my best not to become the monster my mate speaks of,”

Both veela and mate felt their magic binding together as a visible white orb settled on their inner wrists, a light physical informant of the vow made.

“Thank you, Tom,” Hermione whispered as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Although the orphan wizard despised the fact that he now had to let go of the one thing that had helped him push through the years of torture at the orphanage and initially at Hogwarts, he reluctantly agreed that a happy Hermione was far greater for his wellbeing than striving off of one working brain cell and a nose-less body.

“Anything for you, my Queen,” his lips brushed against hers as they spoke.

“Even if I told you to dive into the Black Lake in the middle of winter starkers?”

“Almost anything,” he amended before planting a hungry kiss on her lips; sparks of electric magic filling them as they sated their lust for each other by the few bushes of mint leaves near the Black Lake.

**ooOoo**

Displaced in time and an era not her own, Hermione Granger was looked after by and in return looked after her dark veela whenever his desire to explore the forbidden arts increased. She ensured Tom did not fall prey into working at Borgin and Burkes, rather she helped him follow into the vigorous job of an Unspeakable while becoming an Unspeakable Healer herself. Together, they opened an apothecary in various areas around wizarding Britain with the help of Tom’s group of rich friends (though he still occasionally referred to them as his followers in the privacy of their home). With the success of their business filling the Vault of Slytherin to its prestigious figure before Tom’s maternal ancestors had ruined it, the mated couple set off to travel the world to discover magic that had yet to be brought to the wider public’s knowledge.

Hermione ensured that Tom didn’t attempt anything particularly unstable that she had recognised had helped him in his downfall in the future and had ordered for him to reattach his horcrux pieces back to himself within the Chamber of Secrets in their final year at Hogwarts; effectively erasing the last remnants of Lord Voldemort that didn’t belong in the far depths of her mind.

On the thirty first of October 1981, the witch had distracted him with an impromptu vacation in Australia; her paranoia of the date prompting her to lead her wizard as far away from Godric’s Hollow as she could. Upon returning a week later, Hermione was relieved to see James, Lily and baby Harry Potter laughing and joking around with her named godson Sirius Black who had consequently not been disowned by the House of Black.

A beautiful smile encompassed her lips as Tom kissed her soundly before hugging her tightly. Over the years he had become slightly more comfortable with her casual touches and gestures of affection and had slowly taken to return them with vigour.

“We have to make a nursery!” the dark eyed wizard exclaimed as his wings fluttered in excitement of the impending birth of their child, “What colour should the wallpaper be? Blue? What if-”

Laughter escaped her as she relished in his eagerness for the child that was (in the minute) the size of a pea in her womb.

Indeed, all was well.


End file.
